


Take Me Home (Where I can Sing and Drown)

by ScarletPotter



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Crying, Cutting, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Nightmares, Pain, Panic Attacks, Peter Parker Angst, Peter Parker Has Nightmares, Peter Parker Has Panic Attacks, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker Whump, Peter Parker is a Mess, Peter is Spiderman, Quentin Beck Being a Jerk, Superfamily (Marvel), Torture, Tortured Peter Parker, Villain Quentin Beck, but he gets kidnapped and tortured, fluff will come, kinda like seven days in hell, not that graphic, quentin beck gets what he deserves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:14:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22618459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScarletPotter/pseuds/ScarletPotter
Summary: Peter Stark-Rogers knew that there were consequences in becoming a hero. But the greater good would always outweigh any consequences, as his dads had told him when they found Peter crying from a nightmare of them dying, “Remember Peter, with great power, comes great responsibility.” And those words became a mantra that would forever live on in Peter’s head, serving as a constant reminder of his purpose in life. To do good. Because sitting out with the ability to make a difference was selfish, corwardish even. And neither Starks or Rogers were cowards.And it was that exact quote that inspired him to embrace Spiderman, of course under the guidance of his fathers. The family dedicated themselves to avenging the ones who needed protecting, and of course protecting along the way. Them, along with the Black Widow, Hawkeye, Thor, and The Hulk formed the greatest team on the planet: The Avengers.The trio were the Stark-Rogers, however, bearing the last names of two of the most famous and most enemied Avengers came with a price.A price of thick red targets painted on their backs.ORwhere Peter gets tortured by Quentin Beck and some other people with a vendetta against Tony Stark.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Steve Rogers, Peter Parker & Steve Rogers & Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 8
Kudos: 58





	1. Chapter 1: Prologue

For almost all of Peter Stark-Rogers’s life, he always wanted to be a superhero. How could he not, with Iron Man and Captain America as his Dads, and the Black Widow, War Machine, Winter Soldier, Hawkeye, Falcon, Thor, Hulk, as well as the Scarlet Witch as his aunts and uncles that formed the greatest team on Earth: the Avengers. Being a superhero with his family was the Stark-Rogers’ biggest dream, and said dream became a reality when he was bitten by a radioactive spider, and embraced the famous neighborhood-friendly hero who also happened to be an Avenger: Spiderman.

Becoming Spiderman was one of the best things that has ever happened to Peter, because he got to use his remarkable abilities to better the world, and the lives on it, He lived by the mantra his Dads had told him long ago when he was six years old. His Dads were called on to go to a mission late at night, and Peter began to tear up as they prepared to leave. He remembered asking them why it had to be them who had to fight and risk their lives and not anyone else. To that, his Dads replied as they consoled him with bear hugs and peppered kisses, “Peter, with great power, comes great responsibility.” And that had opened Peter’s eyes, if you were able to make a change in this world, then do it. The phrase became embedded in Peter’s mind, and gave him the inspiration to do various acts of good whenever the opportunity arose. 

And Peter loved the idea of being a hero, for better or worse. He loved the adrenaline that thundered through his veins as he swung from rooftop to rooftop, as well as the morality of standing up for justice. The world is a dangerous place, and yes heroes add to it, but then the darkest hour settles, it is the heroes that rise up to the challenge, just like his encounter with The Vulture that earned him his Avenging title. He also loved the satisfaction of doing something good with his life, and the genuine thank-you’s of the people he saved. Being Spiderman gave Peter a whole other sense of purpose, as well as deepen the tender moments he shared with his Dads as they mentored him throughout all aspects of life. 

And his Dads were always there for him. They were the idols, always had and always would. They were the ones who took his abandoned three-year-old self in, held him and made it well known that he would forever be cared for and loved for. That to them, Peter was the best, more precious thing they had in their lives. They were the ones who consoled Peter whenever he was scared, hurt, or in need of affection. They were the ones that dried his tears after good cries, tucked him to bed, whispered soft reassurances in his ears when he woke up from terrorizing nightmares, and made sure that Peter knew that whatever happened, his Dads would no doubt be there with him. They were there for every step of the way, and Gods be  _ damned _ if anyone ever tried to hurt their boy. 

There was one more thing about being a hero, being a hero always has consequences. 


	2. it all goes downhill from here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here we go!

Soft, moist air mixed with billowing breezes scurried animate objects throughout the bustling streets of New York. The city lived up to its alias, “The City that Never Sleeps” with the constant cacophony of sounds emitted at literally every other moment, varying from the blaring honks of cars to the multitude of voices that filled city streets. But the loudest sound was the sound of nature, as rustling leaves of various shades danced as they swayed onto the feathery Earth, mixed with crisp, crunchy sounds that littered the air with a harmonious taste as worn soles made friction against nature. Nature hummed quietly, leaving all of her inhabitants to their own making. Despite all the sounds, right now, the only sounds that were audible where the vibratious mixture of grunts and pants as the famous Black Widow circled her nephew as they sparred. Said nephew just so happened to be New York’s favorite vigilante Spiderman, or known by the minority public eye, Peter Parker. And to a secular group, Peter Stark-Rogers. 

The redhead instructed firmly yet lightly, “Make sure to stay on your toes, it keeps you with an advantage, and easier to swing in and do your spidey tricks.”

Peter chuckled with a retort, “They’re not tricks, they’re um...”

Natasha, amused cocked an eyebrow, “Whatever you say, Peter, now how about some lunch? I recall something earlier about your Dads cooking?”

Peter cracked a grin, “If it’s Papa I’m excited, Dad, I’m concerned. I ever tell you about the time he tried to cook pasta and made a low-level fire in the kitchen? It was hilarious, I made FRIDAY get the whole thing on video and saved to the hard drive, so that whatever happens that video will never be lost.” He chuckled as they entered the kitchen, “It’s my only piece of leverage, y’ know?”

It was Natasha’s turn to chuckle, “Oh, I have a lot more, I’ll crypt them to you. Us spiders have got to stick together, especially when someone leaves Tony in the kitchen.” She mimicked a shudder, “The horror of it all.”

And just for their luck, they found Steve wearing an apron as he smiled at the sight of his son and his best friend, “Hey guys, you’re just in time, lunch is ready.” 

Peter beamed at Steve, “Thanks, Papa! Nat, tell him how I kicked your ass.”

Natasha nodded, “I kicked it very well. But Stony jr here did quite well.”

Steve gave Peter a look, and blurted, “Language. And Natasha, stony jr?”

Natasha shrugged nonchalantly, “It’s actually grossing over social media, especially Twitter, since you decided to put a ring on him. Steve Rogers and Tony Stark equal Stony. Right, Peter?”

Steve asked confused, “I’m trending on Twitter?”

Peter nodded solemnly, “Yes ma’am. #americasass. Where’s Dad?” He enjoyed the confusion on his Papa’s face, being the old man that he was. 

Steve replied with a slight smirk, “Where he always is, you want to get him while I make you a plate?”

Peter nodded and headed down the hallway to his Dad’s favorite place in the whole Tower. And the Tower had over one hundred floors, and thrice times the number of rooms. In fact, the Tower even had a whole floor on R&D, filled with labs and all the scurrying aspects of science that involved diffusing chemicals, and untimely explosions. And Tony had his own little version of it, it was about three times the size of Peter’s room. Originally, the lab had been strictly Tony’s, and no one was allowed to enter. But over time, the genius caved into his loved ones who had their own little workspaces within the lab. In the far corner by the windows was Steve’s art studio, placed at just the right angle for the perfect lighting, and an abundance of artistic tools ranging from pens, pencils, erasers, and charcoal. And adjacent to Tony’s side, was a mini-lab accompanied with a desk and messy-written notes that belonged to a certain Peter. 

Instead of knocking on the door, Peter asked FRIDAY for entry, and soundlessly slipped through the lab doors and felt a smile form on his lips. His Dad was hunched over his table, brows furrowed deep in thought as his wrist moved furiously against scraps of paper. 

An idea brightened in Peter's mind as a devilish smile formed across thin, pink lips. The boy crept towards his father and gently poked the back of his head. The simple gesture caused the genius, billionaire, and philanthropist to jump out of his surprise, with his pencil flying out of his hand and rolling off the table. 

The man turned around with a feigned expression of annoyance until he saw who had innocently poked him. He smiled at the warming sight of his son, "Hey buddy, what's up?" 

Peter’s lips tugged upwards into a smile, as if it were muscle memory. He spoke warmly, “Papa, made lunch, c’mon.” 

Tony lightly chuckled as he slowly stood up, ruffling Peter’s somewhat disheveled curls as he stretched. “Alright kiddo, let’s go.”

The father and son reported back to the living room where lunch was waiting for them. By then, the other Avengers, Clint, Thor, Bruce, and Wanda had joined the table, each engaged in their own conversations.    
  


Wanda smiled warmly at Peter and Tony, “Hey Peter, so how was training with Nat?” 

Peter deadpanned, “I have hurt in places I didn’t even know could hurt. Nah, I’m kidding. It’s just Nat, if you know what I mean.”

Clint chuckled, “Get over here before I eat your lunch too.” 

Peter grinned as he slid into a seat and dug into his lunch. 

...

Just as the team was wrapping up lunch, Steve turned on the TV and flipped to the news channel which began to discuss the breaking news of the day. The reporter at the desk shared in an urgent tone that a robbery was ongoing on Fifth Avenue and the robbers were suspected of having guns. Peter quickly stood up asking, “Can I go?”

Steve nodded with a warm smile, “Go be a hero.”

Tony chuckled as Peter smiled at Steve’s approval, “Go get ‘em Spidey!”

Peter couldn’t help but call out as he quickly changed into his suit, “That’s so corny!” After ensuring his suit was fully charged and functional, he leaped out of his bedroom window and took off. 

He wasn’t in the air very long when he landed right in front of the jewelry shop on Fifth. The hero retorted in feigned annoyance, “Dude, come on! What is up with bad guys and jewelry places? Proposing to someone? Step it up, please!” 

The robber wasn’t thrilled at the sight of the vigilante and lunged towards him. Peter quipped as he ducked a thrown fist, “What, no bad guy monologue? Cap tells me you guys love to self-narrate why you guys do what you do.” 

The man whose fist Peter easily dodged retorted, “Stay still you stupid bug!”

Peter rolled his eyes as he delivered a roundhouse kick to the man, tossing the gun out of his hand. He quipped, “Dude, seriously? Completely unoriginal! Even a ten year old would know that spiders aren’t bugs! Bugs have six legs, spiders have eight, and I, a human, only have two. Disappointing.” 

This only angered the man who poised to hit the vigilante over the head when the teen had moved to get people to safety. He was promptly stopped mid-swing as Peter’s spidey senses tingled and the boy had a lock on the robber’s arm. The Stark-Rogers smirked as he swiftly punched the man, effectively sending him sprawled on the floor where the authorities would handle the man from there. 

Peter watched as the man was read his rights as he was dragged to the backseat of a police car. One of the apprehending officers flashed Peter a grateful smile, “Good wok Spiderman! Thanks for the assist.” Peter smiled despite the mask concealing it, “No biggie. All in a day’s work, y’know?”

Just as he uttered those words, he felt his stomach churn.  _ Something’s not right. _

Peter pondered the matter. What could be triggering his senses? He took down the bad guy, so what other danger was there? He surveyed the scene in front of him, seeing nothing but police officers and uninterested pedestrians all consumed in their own personal activities. Nothing appeared to be amiss, so why the heck were his senses screaming danger?

Perplexed, Peter decided to head home, completely unaware of the mistake that would come of it. The more he swung from building to building, his spidey senses only increased, causing the hero to grow worried. 

The next thing the Avenger knew, something sharp pierced his arm as he was mid-flip. Then, Peter felt himself become tired, as if his body was forcing itself to shut down. And before Peter could process what was happening, he was falling, losing conscience at the same time. 

_ Dangerdangerdangergetout! _

_ Move, do something goddammit! _

Peter felt his eyes droop, realizing that he had fallen as he slammed onto concrete and found himself struggling to breathe. Not too long after, Peter heard the thudding sound of footprints, slowly luring him to sleep. His senses screamed to do something, anything, when everything went dark. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it all goes downhill for peter from here. make sure to comment and leave kudos! and chapters will be updated weekly every saturday!


	3. day 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter realizes that he's been kidnapped by Quentin Beck.

The last thing Peter remembered was falling, and then darkness as he blacked out. What the teenager wasn’t aware of was the troop of uniformed men who picked him up, threw his slumped self in the trunk of a van, and then sped off, leaving a crowd of people wondering what had just happened? Split-seconds later, video footage of Spiderman being kidnapped went viral, appearing on a multitude of screens and devices, including the ones located at Avengers Tower. 

Wanda, who was watching the footage breathed out in horror as her hand covered her open mouth, “Guys, Peter, oh God.” 

Tony Stark felt his heart drop as he watched his son, the kid who he had been taking care of for nearly all of Peter’s life miss his target and was sent pummeling to the ground. The Avenger remembered the day they found Peter like it was yesterday. It was a clear, vivid memory that Tony promised himself that would never alter in his genius mind. He felt his stomach join his heart as Peter crashed onto the concrete with a thud that forced him to unconsciously blurt, “FRIDAY, suit.  _ Now _ .” The man’s vision blurred and all he could focus on was Peter, his Peter potentially getting hurt. 

Steve’s voice was panic-stricken as he addressed his husband, “Tony, I think we’re too late.” His voice faltered, and a sound of protest escaped his lips. 

Tony followed his husband’s gaze as men dressed in oddly familiar attire threw his son into a van and sped off. 

...

A groan slipped out of Peter’s lips as a wave of pain overcame him. He moved to rub his eyes, but found metal holding them back. Confused and on the verge of panic, Peter’s eyes fluttered open, revealing himself in unfamiliar territory. 

The room that he was contained in was empty for the most part, and somehow it’s vastness conjured uneasy vibes, opening up the idea of terror. Peter sucked in a breath, trying to control the panic that was slowly consuming his body. He turned his head to the side to find a small table caked in filth that was accompanied with a small metal chair. If the boy craned his head at just the right angle, he’d be able to see small slivers of light protrude from a rounded window. Then Peter realized that he was still in his suit. Which meant that whoever brought him here knew, or now knew his identity. And possibly other things about him, like who he really was.

The teenager stiffened, fight-or-flight response triggering as dozens of worst-case scenarios ran through his head. He wondered aloud, “Where am I?”  _ Is this a dream? How did I get here?  _ And then it all came to him: the robbery and then falling. How he got here was beyond his comprehension. But that didn’t matter to him, all the boy could focus on was getting out of here. He had never been kidnapped before, and he didn’t want to be here. His fathers had taught him that if he was ever captured, you should always try to free yourself if the opportunity presented itself. And this looked exactly like one to Peter. 

He grunted as he tried to pry the restraints off but failed, sinking back against the cold metal that he was stuck upon.  _ How are these restraints still on? My super strength should’ve worked.  _ More panic took hold off him as he tried to figure out why his abilities weren’t working.  _ C’mon Peter, get a hold of yourself. Panicking won’t help you get out of here, wherever here is. Take a deep breath and try again.  _

Confused with his predicament, the boy pouted. He sighed, stubbornness getting a hold on him as he tried again. Another grunt flooded the room as he pushed himself up, as he pushed himself up, attempting yet again to free himself of his restraints. Just as his ineffective attempt sent him pressed against the cold metal, a husky voice chortled, “There’s no use in trying to free yourself. I designed these specifically to withstand the power and strength of Thor. And you’re no Thor. You’re just a mosey kid, who is worth a whole lot.”

Peter mustered his best serious look despite the heavy fear that rose from the pit of his stomach, “Who the hell are you?” He thickly swallowed, tugging on his restraints once again. He felt scared, he had never been kidnapped before and he didn’t like it. He wanted to be safe at home, tucked between the arms of his Dads. 

The man only smiled revealing two rows of pearl-white teeth, “You’re going to get to know us very well, dear Peter. But, you can call me Quentin, Quentin Beck.” He approached his captive and brought a needle to Peter’s vision, showing the boy what he was going to do to him. 

This caused Peter to immediately panic as he thrashed around whimpering, “Us? How do you know who I am? Where am I? Get that away from me!” He kept on moving, hoping that the man, Beck as he had introduced himself as wouldn’t hurt him. 

Peter’s hopes were quickly diminished as the man, Quentin Beck latched an arm onto his, and forced it still despite Peter’s thrashing. He explained with a smile that gave Peter an urge to throw up, “The restraints prevent you from using your super strength, but not your other abilities, if that’s what you want to call them.” He winked, “You’ll need them for later. Now, stay still, pest.” He squeezed Peter’s arm, forcing it to stiffen as he forced the needle through the boy’s flesh, causing Peter to stifle a scream. 

The teenager’s eyes watered as the effect was instantaneous. Pain immediately surged through Peter’s body as he dizzily whispered weakly, “Stop, you’re hurting me!” He lazily moved to push Beck away but found his body forcing itself to shut down. Peter felt his vision blur as black dots dotted his vision as thinking took too much of his energy, and everything around him looked and sounded fuzzy. 

Beck chuckled as he watched Peter struggle to stay conscious, “Sweet dreams, or not. I don’t really care. Anyways, the real fun begins tomorrow.” 

The last thing he saw was Beck wink as he left the room, and then he succumbed to the darkness. 


	4. day 2

The last thing Peter Stark-Rogers remembered was some guy who proclaimed himself to be Quentin Beck (who?) promise something about fun. And whatever taste of this Peter had already gotten, he didn’t like it. 

A pained moan escaped Peter’s worn lips as he felt something touch him. He didn’t like the idea of having his powers stripped away, it made him feel more vulnerable and suspectable to anything. As his eyes fluttered open, he was able to make out the face of Quentin Beck. He rasped the million-dollar question, “Why am I here?” Peter immediately regretted saying that as his throat stung when he spoke, reminding him that he hadn’t had anything to drink or eat in the last sum of hours. 

Beck sighed, “Dear, dear, Peter. You’ve never been in this type of situation before, have you?” He rubbed his hands together gleefully as his eyes twinkled with darkness, “Then this will be far more fun than we had originally anticipated!” He smiled sickly as he talked to Peter like he was an ignorant three-year-old, “So you see, when you kidnap someone, it’s because they hold great importance to your personal benefit.” He cupped Peter’s chin, ignoring the way the teenager flinched upon contact, “And you, Peter Stark-Rogers, are very, very valuable!”

Peter froze. He attempted to play off Beck by speaking but then decided against it, realizing that there was nothing he could really do except for ask, “How do you know who I am?”  _ Why are you keeping me here, and who are the ‘we’ you talk about? I want to go home. Are Dad and Papa trying to find me? Or maybe this is some sort of dream, and I need to just wake up.  _

As if Beck could read his mind, he tsked, “This is very real Peter, I thought you were smarter than that.” 

He didn’t want his torturer to know how scared he was so he asked hardly, “Why?”

Beck chuckled, an empty hollowed one that sent chills racing down Peter’s spine. He shook his head with a thin-lipped smile, “Obadiah will explain that to you. And as for you,” his smile disappeared as he slapped Peter across the face continuing, “get comfortable because you are going to be here for a very long time.”

Peter grunted as Beck slapped him once again. It left him with a harsh, stinging sensation that overcame him, as well as the downing realization that  _ he had just been slapped. _ He had never been slapped before, and the idea that he had terrified him. 

Beck walked away from Peter, towards the table continuing, “Tell me, how is your father, Tony Stark doing?” Peter refused to answer the man’s inquiry, eyes widening when Beck returned to his side with a knife in hand. 

A fresh wave of panic flooded uncontrollably through Peter, coursing heavily in his veins. He knew exactly what Beck planned to do to him. 

_ Ohnononononono.  _

Peter’s eyes bulged as he eyed the blade that rested in Quentin’s thick fingers, “No, no, no. Please don’t! No, no, no!” He thrashed around, pathetically trying to free himself when Beck clamped the hand that wasn’t twirling the knife, stilling the teenager. 

Beck raised the blade, displaying it so Peter could see what he was going to be tortured with. Panic flooded Peter’s chest as he shut his eyes just as Beck slammed the blade into his flesh, provoking a scream to flood the room. 

Peter felt his eyes water as metal struck bone and was harshly pulled out, drawing blood and another scream with it. A low whimper escaped Peter’s quivering lips as the metal was plunged into his skin yet again, and was shoved up and down, shredding apart cream-colored skin. A watery sensation pricked the back of the vigilante’s eyes as he pleaded dejectedly, “Why are you doing this?”

Peter let out a squeak as metal ran up and down his left arm in rapid random patterns with only one goal: to draw blood. 

And that was all Beck did as Peter unsuccessfully attempted to stifle his sobs. He tried to push Beck away who only spoke stiffly, “Why do you attempt to prolong the inevitable You’re our prisoner! Worthless and practically begging to be hurt! Shut your face before I make you!” 

Peter, on the other hand, was whispering prayers that his parents, someone, anyone was looking for him and would save him from this hell. Peter clenched his eyes shut, whispering lowly, “I want to go home.” 

He smacked Peter harder than before, causing a low whimper out of his victim. He thrust the blade into Peter’s abdomen, pressing down as crimson-colored liquid seeped out of it. And he kept it there, metal scraping bone. 

By then, Peter was sobbing. 

Beck paid no heed to his prisoner’s cries, instead aggressively turning Peter’s head so his left cheek was pressed against the cold slab of concrete, leaving his right cheek exposed to whatever pain Beck enthralled for him. 

Peter scrunched his eyes shut, trying to still his shaking form as Beck traced the length of his forehead down to his lower cheek with his blood-stained knife, just grazing it. Peter bit his lip hard enough to draw blood as Beck tantalized him, enjoying the flinched position the boy was making. 

Then, out of the blue, Beck plunged the blade against Peter’s skull, and with effort, dragged metal to his lower cheek, tearing skin aggressively. 

_ NONONONONONONO _

Peter screamed as white-hot pain rolled through his body, making the teenager feel like he was being set on fire. He whimpered, hoping Beck would end it there, but Beck did the opposite. He moved Peter back so he was facing the ceiling and harshly ran his blade all over every available inch of skin that he could see, tearing it up as Peter screamed and cried. 

_ Please, stop!  _

_ This hurts! _

Eventually, black dots dotted the corners of Peter’s eyes as all the teenager could see was black speckled red as the pain became too much, and his body succumbed to the darkness. 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oof.


	5. day 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: drowning, choking, abuse

Peter mumbled incoherent phrases as his head turning right and left, “No! No! Stop!” Tears spilled down the crying boy’s cream-colored skin, “You’re hurting me!” 

_ Quentin smiled sweetly towards a chained Peter, fiddling with a knife between his middle and forefinger. Peter’s eyes were wide with fear as he had just managed to stutter through trembling lips, “Please don’t hurt me.”  _

_ He grunted, attempting to free himself, but all that did was propel him headfirst into an anxiety attack. The very next thing Peter knew, he was shaking all over and his lungs were tightening inside his chest and his body wouldn’t cooperate with his need for oxygen. There was too much anxiety and panic, and the hyperventilating teenager didn’t have anyone to help him through it.  _

_ Tony would’ve spoken softly as he coaxed soft reassurances that would’ve helped the teenager ground onto something to calm his terror-induced self. He would’ve pulled Peter into his arms and softly stroked him until the boy could breathe again. Steve would’ve been gentle too, with his gentle twinkling baby blue eyes of reassurances that everything was going to be okay. His gentle yet always warm arms would’ve guided Peter onto his chest and just hold him until all his boy’s anxiety would just disappear.  _

_ But Peter was far from those loving touches, instead in a place that he didn’t even know on the world map with people who only wanted to bring harm to him. He needed to get out of here, he hated being stuck,  _

_ Beck seemed to enjoy Peter’s panic and brought the blade poised above Peter’s hearts, a clear yet cruel indication of what the man’s intentions were.  _

Just as Peter screamed, his eyes flashed open and found himself in the presence of a man he had never seen before. The man looked well into his fifties with a bald head and an unreadable, stoic expression. He was leaned into the chair that he was perched upon, suggesting that he had been waiting for the teenager to wake up for a while. Peter thought bitterly,  _ good for him.  _

The man lifted his gaze to find a wide-awake Peter who was attempting to calm his breathing. He inquired with a slight curve of the lip, “Sleep comfortably?” 

Still haunted by his nightmare, Peter thickly swallowed, “What do you want from me?” His voice was thick with exhaustion as he looked up at the ceiling, refusing to look into his captor’s eyes. He just wanted to go home, but he was too far from it. He looked at the man through the corner of his eyes, something brought a sense of dangerous familiarity. Beck, he had no memory of, but the more he looked at the man, the more he felt that he had seen him before, probably in a video or in a photo. 

The man chuckled darkly, sending chills racing each other down Peter’s spine, “Peter Anthony Stark-Rogers, secret child of Tony Stark, Iron Man, and Steve Rogers, Captain America.” He twiddled with his calloused fingers, “Also, the man behind Spiderman’s mask.” 

As much as Peter wanted to ask how they found out about him, he needed to know what on Earth he did so wrong to be brought here. So the boy couldn’t help but ask, “Why did you bring me here?” It’s an innocent question, that hasn’t been fully answered yet. 

The man’s eyes twinkled with glee, “As leverage of course. Against Iron Man, or Tony Stark. Whatever you call him, I don’t really care. What’s important is that we have you, and you aren’t going anywhere. You see, your father” he spat, “wrong many people such as myself as Mister Beck who you met two days ago. In 2008, I was controlling Stark Industries and your  _ damn _ father started to act out, so just like you here, I ordered him to be kidnapped.” Obadiah Stane smiled sickly towards Peter, “Nice little thing money is, a true negotiator with terrorists in Afghanistan. It was a win-win for everyone.” 

Obadiah fumed as he curled his fists tightly, “But  _ Tony  _ had to screw up! And become some superhero by stop making weapons!  _ The fool!  _ So I had to step in and intervene.” He winked at the incredelous Peter, “Ever heard of the Iron Monger?” 

Peter, digusted muttered as he rolled his aching wrists, “You’re sick.” 

Obadiah tsked, “But here I am now with you.” He swallowed thickly as he approached Peter, “And I needed to do something to execute the catharsis that came with sweet revenge. First, we wanted Spiderman, Tony does care for his Avengers. Then, we became intrigued, who is Spiderman? And why does he have such a strange connection to Stark? Then we discovered that Tony Stark and Steve Rogers, two of HYDRA’s greatest enemies, have a child.” 

He was right by Peter’s side continuing, “Now, that’s interesting. Who to choose? Then, imagine our pleasure finding out that Spiderman and Peter Stark-Rogers are one and the same. It was too good to be true.” 

Peter’s eyes widened as Obadiah concluded, “Welcome to HYDRA.” He picked up a baseball bat that Peter hadn’t noticed until then and sickly smiled sweetly, “I do hope you enjoy your stay.” 

Peter gulped as his dad’s first villain pretended to crack the bat, eyeing Peter like a fox before it pounced on its prey. Then, before Peter could anticipate, Obadiah swung the bat over Peter’s wrist, causing a bone-crunching sound to fill the room. 

Peter screamed in agony as Obadiah chuckled, “You’re so easy to break, for a brat. I was told that Stark men are made of iron. And iron doesn’t break easily, does it? Let’s find out.” 

The elder man swung the bat over Peter’s other wrist, equally breaking it as he slammed the bat repeatedly over Peter’s arms until they were red and covered in black and blue bruises. He then moved to Peter’s chest, and slammed the bat over and over his ribs, making Peter wince in agony as pain shot throughout his weakened form. Stane moved away from Peter’s chest, slamming the metal bat over and over across every available inch of skin of Peter until all of the teenage vigilante was littered in black and blue bruises. 

Peter felt his eyes pool with water as pain surged all over his body as Obadiah beated him. His face was deep in a wince when Obadiah threw the bat to the side and spoke darkly, “You’re much like your father dear Peter.” He clapped his hands together, “Let’s see if you’ll break just like him.” 

And then Beck entered the room with a large bucket of water. Peter shrank back against the metal slab he was on, unsure of where this was going, but already knew for a fact that he wouldn’t like it. He dipped his heads down, praying that his dads were doing their best to bring him back home. Peter let out a harsh grunt as the restraints were pulled off of him. Beck harshly grabbed his sore wrists, pulled him off the table and threw Peter onto the floor. 

Peter’s knees banged harshly against the cold, tiled floor, causing a wince to pull on his features. Quentin stood behind him and wrapped an arm around the boy’s neck, putting him in a chokehold. 

Peter gasped as Beck’s hold on his neck tightened, “Stop!” He wheezed, unable to speak. 

_ This hurts, stop! _

_ Stopstopstop! _

_ I want to go home.  _

Peter felt his cheeks tint red and for a few moments the choking teenager thought that Quentin was going to kill him when all of a sudden, the elder man released himself from Peter, still standing behind him. 

Peter immediately moved his hands to his throat, trying to soothe pain as oxygen quickly flooded his lungs. Just as Peter began to feel relief, Beck firmly grasped his head, preventing Peter from moving off his knees. 

Peter was just able to mutter, “What, huh?” when Beck pushed his head into the bucket, completely submerging the former’s head into the water. 

Completely submerged, Peter felt water flood his nose and mouth, slithering into his lungs in fast, cold streams. Peter gagged as he tried to lift his head but failed. Lungs and eyes stinging, Peter was completely helpless as ice-cold water filled his burning lungs. 

Finally, Beck lifted Peter’s head and just as the boy opened his mouth to breathe, he was back underwater, gagging as water snaked into his airways, clogging his breathing. He gurgled as his body felt like it was on fore, praying for some sort of mercy. 

Quentin began to lift Peter’s head when another hand dunked his head before Peter could even open his mouth. Face pressed against the bottom of the bucket, Peter felt his body give up as too much water filled his entire mouth, more so when the hands on his head only pushed his spluttering self further down. 

Just as Peter felt like he was going to throw up, he was harshly pulled out of the bucket. Peter spluttered as he burst into hacks, trying to get the water out of him. And his dizziness definitely didn’t help the wet coughs that Peter was making as his body swayed uncontrollably. There was too much water, and Peter didn’t think he could get it all out of him as his worn head fell to the floor with water spilling out of his cold, quivering lips. He moved his arms who were in a similar state of his lips to his shoulders, trying to calm himself down despite the watery feeling that wouldn’t get out of his head. 

He was still coughing when Obadiah cheerily smiled, “So Peter, how did you like that?” 

Peter refused to meet Obadiah’s eyes as his hands trembled from not only the water but the panic blossoming inside the pit of his stomach. He rubbed his red-rimmed eyes, trying to relieve the stinging sensation that came from the cold water spitting angrily as Obadiah moved towards him, “Get away from me!” 

He tried to move away from his captives, mumbling incoherent angry phrases as panic and fear swirled through his veins. Peter stuttered, “I need to get out of here. Leave me alone.”  _ God, I”m losing it and I’m probably going to die here.  _ The teenager felt so hurt, tired, and hungry that he couldn’t stand up, swaying knees brought him back to the floor. Peter inhaled, crying at the sharp pain that erupted because of it. He didn’t care how childish he was being, all he wanted was to wake up and find all of this to be some twisted, horrible nightmare. 

Suddenly, out of nowhere, a hand latched itself across Peter’s slim neck and tightened. 

_ Not this again, I already can’t breathe you psycho! _

Peter’s eyes widened, forcing the words out, “W-What are you doing?” His veiny hands quickly moved to where Obadiah Stane’s were, trying to pry them off his already aching flesh. Already weak with fatigue amongst other things, his hands fell limp against his sides, leaving the boy fearing that Stane was really going to kill him here and now. 

In a last-ditch effort, the teen helplessly wheezed, “I, I, I can’t breathe!” His dilated irises attempted to meet Stane’s, mentally pleading for mercy, if not his life. As if Stane was telepathic, he removed his hold on Peter speaking, “Funny, your father did the same thing.” He dropped Peter to the floor. 

Peter’s hands once again returned to his bruised neck, trying to rub the soreness away. By then, his whole form was trembling as saw through the blur in his vision what Quentin was twirling in his hands. His face fell as he asked weakly, “What are you going to do to me?” 

Obadiah chuckled, “Dear Peter, we have so much planned for you. Now be a good boy, and take the beating like one.” 

Quentin handed Obadiah whatever was in his hand, and that’s when Peter caught a glimpse of it; a needle. 

And that was all it took for all the color to drain out of Peter’s face. Peter wasn’t scared of a lot of things, but his long-time fear was and would probably always be needles. It was an irrational fear for someone who was the son of the greatest two Avengers to be scared of something many people would see as childish, but for Peter, he began to hyperventilate. 

_ nononononononononononononono _

He was shaking uncontrollably, as he unconsciously backed up till he was leaning against a wall whispering tightly, “Please don’t, please. I’ll be good, I promise.” Tears leaked out of the corner of Peter’s eyes, “I promise.” 

Obadiah turned to Quentin who seemed to enjoy Peter’s panic, “What do you say Beck, you think we can trust him?” 

Beck looked directly into Peter’s eyes as his lips curved to a smirk and replied, “No, I don’t think we can.” 

It was Obadiah’s turn to sinisterly smirk, “Well you heard the man.” 

Peter screamed. 

**Author's Note:**

> hey guys! So I'm back at it with another fic, after how well my other torture fic with quentin and peter did, i decided to up the stakes a little. well, you'll find out what that means soon. but this is a standalone fic and isn't connected to any other of my works! enjoy!


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